Trust Me
by Cacotechny
Summary: Torn ventures out to talk to a new Underground recruit whose identity catches him by surprise. [Oneshot, Pre-Jak 2, M for language and referenced violence.]


**AN: M for strong language and referenced violence. A brief glimpse into my many Underground headcanons. Torn x Ashelin if you squint. If you want to discuss specifics, PM me, or better, find me on tumblr – thisismahwarface. Please enjoy!**

He coughed. It rattled in his lungs like nails in a coffee can and tasted like blood at the end. Nobody even turned their head to look in his direction. Nobody had the time. Day drew to a close in Haven City, and anyone out after dark either had actual business to attend to or was in the wrong business.

He would be relatively safe in his small corner of a mostly abandoned alleyway, hood pulled low over his eyes and half hidden in a ratty shawl. He rattled some coins around in a soup can at anyone that walked by, taking advantage of the shit in his lungs to make himself seem legitimately destitute. Nobody ever gave him anything.

One by one, the street lights overhead ticked on. The one over him stayed dark. The more the light faded, the less he peddled and the more he melted into the black hole between the rickety buildings around him. Soon, he was the only one left.

He coughed again but this time cursed it. Show time was over. The less people saw or heard of him now, the better. Samos had more or less fixed the hole in his side from Dead Town, but the after effects lingered, well, like a bad cough. The cold season had started recently, too, which certainly wasn't helping. Why Samos sent him out here in the first place just to talk with somebody remained to be seen, but at this point, he'd take on the entire metalhead army for the Shadow. So he'd just have to suck it up and see what was so all-fired important about this particular recruit.

Eventually, another person made themselves seen in the alley, and by the way they lingered across from the combination pharmacy and diner with the purple and green neon sign, he had a feeling this was the individual Samos wanted him to meet with. He had cleared the location personally some hours before, laying some interference devices to jam any bugs the Baron's men might have laid, getting a feel for the exits and the regular customers. Two people came and went the entire time he kept watch, and the owner seemed less attentive than a sleeping yakow. He also knew how to look the other way. Thus, the diner was the perfect location for a clandestine meeting.

Keeping his hood low and his eyes to ground, he fake-limped his way across the street. "Spare any change?" he croaked, holding out his can. The person, a woman, turned to him. Her boots looked KG. The hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"No cash on me, but I can get you some hot soup."

The wording was correct, though, a pass code to ensure that each of them was talking with the right person. He nodded, still ill at ease. "Much obliged."

The person moved towards the door. He followed, looking up only to get a glimpse of who exactly he was dealing with and suddenly felt like he'd been struck by a thunderbolt.

Ashelin Praxis stood framed by the light falling around her from inside the diner. She looked tired and annoyed. The annoyance was normal, but it was the first time he'd seen her look so tired in a long time. His heart skipped a beat. She looked good, strong. She'd been promoted – less heavy armor, showing she'd moved from walking the beat to big picture work. That was good. She deserved it.

While he was still scrambling around to compose himself, Ashelin paused, holding the door open for him. When he didn't pass her to go inside, she aimed a suspicious look at him. Recovering, Torn ushered her inside before she could really take stock of his face. A fit of coughing saved him from saying anything else while they made their way to a secluded table. Nobody came out to take their order.

"Samos send you?"

The terse cut of her voice sent goosebumps over his skin. He didn't respond, only pushed back his hood to look her square in the eye. "Yeah, Samos sent me."

A slight twitch in the corner of her mouth and a surprised blink leapt across her face in the only betrayal of emotion she'd probably ever let herself show. Until she got angry.

"What the fuck are you doing here? Is this some kind of game?" The venom washed over him, but he might as well have been a rock at the bottom of the ocean for all its fury.

"I could ask the same thing," he replied indifferently, resting his elbows on the table. "But here we are all the same. The Shadow said you have something to offer us."

"Something to offer _us_? What are you, his little 'eyes and ears' bitch? That was fast."

"I'm not here to argue with you. Either you have something, or you don't."

She sat back in the booth, seething. He stared back at her, and there they were, back in his office, fighting over Dead Town, fighting over the Baron's actions, fighting over what exactly they were doing as Krimzon Guard, fighting over who to believe and who was right. An unstoppable force against an immoveable object. The resulting fallout engulfed them, destroyed them.

Her fists clenched on the table so hard the leather in her gloves creaked audibly, and for a moment he thought she might get up and leave.

"I want to help the Underground."

" _You_? You want to help the Underground?"

"I realize that by how our last …conversation ended you might be a little surprised." Torn figured his face confirmed that enough, and so said nothing. She gauged him for a reaction. When none came, she continued, finally breaking eye contact to stare down at the cracked tabletop. "My father's intentions are good – "

"We've talked enough about your father's intentions," Torn snapped. "Why do you suddenly want to help the Underground, and how exactly do you plan on helping?"

"The Baron needs to understand what he's doing isn't helping, and the Underground is the only way to get him to take it seriously. I'll keep my loyalties with him, but I'll pass you information as I can."

"So you want to be a double-agent. That's a bit subtle for your style."

She made a face at him. "You …may…have had a point. Something needs to be done. He won't even listen to me anymore." Something in her hard crystalline façade weakened. "I asked him about the Krimzon Guard, Damas, the metalheads, … Dead Town."

Torn huffed. "Did he stiff-arm you?"

"More or less. He's never kept things from me before, not when I've asked."

"Oh, I doubt that. Praxis keeps more secrets than you think." He ought to know; he was once privy to a few of them, once upon a time. Torn moved to leave until a fit of coughing forced him back into his seat. His hand came back with speckles of blood on it; nothing new but nothing good. He'd have to see Samos again about it. Ashelin's scrutiny reeked of pity, regret, sadness, but she said nothing. Only looked at him with that odd light in her eyes and on the cusp of saying something that might have shown whatever it was that went on behind the metal walls of her heart.

"They never had a ceremony for Duran," she said instead.

Torn fell back against his chair with a soft sigh. "His family was dead. His platoon was dead. Nobody was there to remember him."

"Except you. And me."

"You didn't kill him."

It was supposed to have been simple – get into the Archives just before closing, get the clerk to go home early, "Commander's orders, Corporal, get some sleep," leave the message Samos had given him to pass to Praxis, send out a few key incriminating recordings between Praxis and Erol, and then blow up the building with the computer virus Vin worked up because of course the Baron would have a records system with its own self-destruct algorithm just to cover his ass someday.

The loss of the Archives wouldn't affect KG operations in the slightest, because there was a secret back-up in the depths of the Palace, but it would serve as a message the Baron was on borrowed time. His own commander rebelled against him, and the public would see the monster Praxis had become.

Simple. Neat. Effective. The debut of the Underground as a real force in this war.

Until Duran forgot his room card on his desk and then fought when Torn tried to stop him because Duran was a smart kid. He got to the foyer just in time for the first computer to blow, triggering a chain reaction to the rest of the machines, and levelling the building within about a minute.

Oh, Praxis took that little snag and ran with it for weeks with propaganda – 'KG Traitor Kills Lone Survivor in Terrorist ATTACK' and other such things. Duran had been the only survivor of Bravo Platoon's last stand at the wall during Dead Town. If he hadn't been so stupidly loyal, he might have run with the others when the Baron told them to retreat instead of listening to Torn tell them they had a duty to this city, not to Praxis, and that running meant cowardice. If he hadn't fought so hard, he might have died with the rest of his comrades instead of getting assigned a desk job as a pat on the back, good job, son, you don't have to walk the beat anymore. He might not have been blown up that night.

But he did, and when Torn woke up from a two-day delirium caused by being next to a building when it blew up, he had to live with all that knowledge while everybody else just really decided Torn was suddenly Bad Guy #2 after The Shadow himself because he killed a decorated war hero.

But Ashelin knew what he knew. And she knew what it meant to him.

Torn took one deep breath and got back to his feet. He shuffled around in the depths of his cloak and produced a communicator. He held it out to Ashelin. She reached for it almost hesitantly – almost – but he pulled it back for just a second.

"I've never had to question your loyalty to anyone or anything once you've given it, which is the only reason I'm giving you this with reservation."

"Because I still care about my own father?"

"It's a direct line to me and only to me. I won't risk the entire Underground just because you've finally decided to pull the rag off your eyes."

Those green eyes narrowed at him as she snatched the comm out of his hand. "Don't be dramatic, you prick." She tucked it into a pouch on her belt. "I won't interfere with the war against the metalheads, and I know the Underground has the good sense to do the same. I'm just finished seeing people done wrong, no matter the intentions."

"Gloves finally come off?"

Her ferocity, the thing that ignited a fire in his chest not just because he loved her but because it was something people rallied behind, made itself plain in her expression, and there was more behind it tonight than just Ashelin being Ashelin.

"Gloves are for pussies."

They left at different times, her first, him next shuffling away in his beggar's clothes. He ducked a couple patrols on the way back. Samos was on him the instant he came through the hideout door. "Well?" he demanded, hands spread as he stood in the doorway to his office. Torn shrugged out of his ragged disguise. From the corner, bent over a bowl of soup, Tess watched the engagement with eager eyes.

"Y'know, you could've ruffled a lot less feathers if you'd sent somebody else," Torn quipped sharply. "I didn't exactly part on good terms with those people."

"That was the point!" Samos clomped towards him. "If it had been somebody else, she might have just played us for fools, and we would've been none the wiser. If she'd been out to trick us, she would've set a trap for you, and I'd be reading about in the news tomorrow."

Torn found himself at a loss for words for a moment. He tossed his hands in the air and made for the command table and the bottle of whiskey sitting there. Samos followed in his wake. "I'm starting to wonder if I actually made the right choice in changing employers."

"Don't be dramatic." The sage snatched the bottle from Torn's hand before he could even lift it to his mouth. "This is going to delay your recovery, idiot. Did she join or not?"

"Partially. She's staying on with Praxis as a double agent to get us intel."

Samos rubbed his chin thoughtfully, taking a rapid swig from the bottle himself before passing it to Torn. "Not as good as I'd hoped, but it'll do. It would have made an impression if the Baron's own daughter made a public stand against him."

"Ashelin's on our side now?" This came from Tess in the corner.

"Sort of," Torn corrected gently, turning to put a hip against the table. "She's never going to give up on the Baron. He is her only family, after all, but she's ready to help."

"How can you know?" Tess asked. Torn took a brisk swig from the bottle. Samos was right. He regretted instantly how it made his lungs want to crawl their way up his throat and out onto the floor.

"Just trust me."


End file.
